Parevian
by Era Yachi
Summary: Young Kytin Tribri is a genius engineer who works for the New Commonwealth. He befriends an aged Dylan Hunt and his crew, and through them learns about the past twenty years and their incredible adventures after defeating the Abyss. Future fic.
1. Chapter One

**_Parevian _**

-

**Summary:** The weakening Commonwealth rescues a student who belongs to a race of natural geniuses. He aids Dylan Hunt and his aging crew in the war against the Nietzcheans, but remains troubled by his loyalties. Future fic.

**AN:** How's this for a teaser? Takes place about 20 years after the end of season five.

* * *

_Chapter One_

_-- _

The moment he heard the door chime, he knew his perfect life at the Parevius Freemind Academy was over.

"Pack your things," the warden told him, tossing over a crudely made bag. He caught it clumsily, trying to look bewildered but succeeding only in looking stupid. She ignored him and crossed the room to shut off his music. "Your transport leaves in exactly one hour. Dock seven. If you have any goodbyes to make, I suggest you use the telepad to make them."

"An hour?" he protested, rolling to his feet. "But that's not enough time."

"Really?" Now she paused, her face stone solid and lined with age. "And here I thought you had no friends." She uncrossed her arms and turned to leave. "One hour, Tribri. I wouldn't make the representative wait. I hear they're desperate for help, and now that they've asked for you, I believe it."

The door hissed closed behind her. Kytin Tribri sat down on the edge of his bed heavily. "At least I can do my job," he growled. "No thanks to you, old witch."

This was the Drago-Kasov style, all right. For months, they had been showing up, uprooting students from their contracted lives on the orbital engineering academy, and dragging them to who-knows-where. It was part of the pact made between the Nietzcheans and the humans of the Galiant system. As long as they had the pick of the human "intellectual litter", they would leave the entire system in peace.

None of the students ever returned. It made that little ball of fear in the pit of his stomach rumble and plunge. His life as he knew it was over.

He tried to pack slowly. He couldn't shake the desolate hope that his Nietzchean escort would get tired of waiting and leave without him. But after a quarter of an hour, he ran out of things to put in his bag. So he decided that he should take a shower. A long one.

By the time he scrubbed the water from his mud-brown hair, and finished dressing, he had a solid twenty minutes left. His usually creative and innovative brain failed to create another scenario that would give him a rock-hard excuse for being late. With a stone in his chest, he slung his half-empty pack over his shoulder and left the room.

He paused in the corridor, and turned around. He tried to imprint the image of his empty quarters inside his mind before the doors slid closed. It was likely this was the last private thing he would have for a long time.

Being one of the laziest and uncoordinated of students at the academy, Kytin had left his room assignment to the last minute before terms started. Consequently, they had arranged his sleeping quarters in the worst of locations—parallel to transport docks. Until today, he could have cared less about where they put him. Noise he could sleep through. But now all he wanted was to get lost, delay his arrival and prolong the inevitable. This was a hard thing to do when he barely had to turn a corner to reach his destination.

The docks were impressive during the day hours. With no walls to divide them, all twelve ports circled the massive, central plate where the general population circulated. During the busiest of times, half or more of the docks were graced with the presence of ships ranging in all sizes—from small slip fighters to industrial grade merchants, cargo freighters and cruise vessels. On any day but today, the sight of just one new ship would have motivated him. Not now, though.

The crowd, he noticed, was thicker than usual. Could a single student get lost in something like this? Trampled? Knocked over the guard railing? If he fell onto the support railings below, he might break a limb, or become paralyzed. The Drago-Kasov tribe didn't take cripples. He'd heard of one girl—she'd shattered every bone in her arm after being struck by a shipping crane. The Nietzcheans passed her over like a broken jar of Bolan jelly.

Kytin slowed to a quick stop. That girl had two Nietzcheans escorting her when that happened. In fact, now that he thought of it, all students who were taken into Dragan 'service' were accompanied to their transport by at least a single Nietzchean. Why not now? The warden had told him to be at the seventh dock within an hour.

An icy feeling washed over him. Was he supposed to wait in his room for someone? What would they do to him if he showed up early? Without an escort?

His panic ebbed. What was the worst they could do? Hurt him? Hurting him would make him less useful. And besides, who didn't appreciate someone with initiative? If he was lucky, they might decide that by not waiting for his escort, he might be too zealous for them to handle. They might even think better of him—having the opportunity to run away, but choosing to obey his warden instead.

Yeah, right. Some choice. Run away and stand trial with the Parevian court system. Or let some Nietzchean thugs haul him off to some distant planet to play 'loyal smart servant' until he could sponge enough money to buy his way out of service.

This was the way things worked during a war. Kytin didn't know who to hate more—the Nietzcheans for being their oppressors, or the Commonwealth for giving them a reason to oppress.

He started forward again, passing through the crowd like a nano-welder through aluminum. Dock four, dock five, dock six…two of which were empty. A rather rotund Perseid was standing in front of his vessel, laughing, both hands placed on his robed belly. Kytin tried to ignore the general carefree feeling floating around the docks. Usually, when the Nietzcheans were around, people kept their business closed and personal. It figured no one told this Perseid idiot that the Drago-Kasov clan was docked right next to him.

He started to rethink that anomaly, when someone suddenly appeared beside him and grabbed his arm. She—he noted it was a she, his naturally heightened sense of smell informed him—guided him through the crowd by the elbow.

"Keep moving. Don't say anything. Just move, and I won't hurt you," she instructed him. He felt the barrel of a small weapon dig into his ribs. This wasn't the first time he had been 'taken aside' in this manner, so he kept his mouth shut and didn't slow down. He really didn't expect to be led straight to the mouth of the seventh dock—his destination—but he was smart enough to keep his surprise to himself.

The woman herded him up the boarding ramp and towards the gargantuan ship docked at number seven. Kytin noticed two things about this ship immediately. The first was that it was old. In fact, it was ancient. And second, it wasn't Nietzchean. Not even close. The woman holding him hostage didn't smell like a Nietzchean, either. He felt a very small surge of hope, and a much larger portion of confusion Tribri his nauseating ball of fear.

They didn't stop until they were inside the ship and the door was closed. If the exterior of the craft was old, the interior was absolutely prehistoric. The last time he'd been around such tech was when the warden loaned him out to an old Nightsider for a week. It took every sweet charming trick of his to keep the rat from killing him every time something broke. Suddenly, he didn't feel too great about this miraculous abduction.

His captor turned on him, now that they were separate from the prying ears and eyes of the dock's inhabitants. She untied a knot and pulled the cloak from her body. His suspicions validated themselves. She was not Nietzchean.

She was human, as far as he could tell. Probably in her late forties, with short, dark blonde hair and killer eyes. Despite the fact that she was old enough to be his mother, he admitted in a half-conscious, not-so-important-to-know way that she was gorgeous. Right now, however, her figure was the last thing on his mind.

"What's your name?" she demanded.

He hesitated. Oh, crap. What did he tell her? A fake name? Screw it. "Uh…Kytin Tribri," he said slowly. Realizing she was no longer pointing a gauss gun at him, he let himself relax…about an inch. "Why are you kidnapping me?"

Perfect. Why not ask if she's single? Maybe if he kept on asking stupid questions, he'd appeal to her sense of humor.

But she wasn't offended. She reacted as though she expected him to ask that exact question. "I prefer to call it a liberal operation," she said with a cocky twist of the lips. She shifted her weight onto one leg and swept her eyes over him appraisingly. "He said you were skinny, but I wasn't expecting a walking force lance. What do they feed you in these academies?"

She turned around and tossed the ratty cloak into a corner as she spoke. As she started to move off, Kytin could only stumble after her, mouth flapping in an attempt to reconcile his shock.

"Uh…food?" he said stupidly, following her, ducking under a bunch of dangling wires. "Wait a second! Who are you? What happened to the Nietchzeans?"

They arrived in a room that oddly resembled his father's old single deck apartment on Old Parevius. The middle-aged woman stopped to open a refrigerator unit.

"First off, there are no Nietzcheans," she said offhandedly, bringing out two cans of cheap beer. She tossed one to him, which he barely caught. She sat down at the table, flipping up the tab on her can. "There never was. So you can loosen your pants a little, kiddo. I'm a good guy…metaphorically speaking."

He could only stare, unaware of the way the can was numbing his fingers. His pack slipped off his shoulder, jerking him backwards, which shook him out of his stupor.

"You're…the Commonwealth," he said slowly, although he felt absurd for saying it. What the hell would the Commonwealth want with an academy in Nietzchean territory? With him?

"I am a _part_ of the Commonwealth, yes," said the blonde woman, sipping her beverage. "C'mon, sit. We won't bite, will we, Trance?"

"Of course we won't."

He twisted around, successfully dropping his pack onto the floor. Another woman, a much younger one with yellow-and-orange tinged skin and red hair approached him from behind. In contrast to her counterpart, the look on this one's face was calm and serene. Her smile was genuinely warming. Kytin felt the knot in his abdomen twist further.

"Who are you people?" he practically choked, backing away from them.

"Relax," the older woman said, grimacing. She set her beer down, as though his behavior were somehow making it go flat. "Seriously, you're worse than Harper." Then she frowned. "Trance, don't tell him I said that."

"Said what?" said Trance innocently, smoothly gliding towards the table and taking an empty seat. She gently patted the metal chair next to her. "Don't be afraid, Kytin," she assured him. "Beka's really a sweet person once you get to know her."

That name set off a whole new set of alarms he never knew he had. He abruptly remembered why the blonde woman looked so familiar. It was because he had spent at least four years of his career training studying the biographies of the Drago-Kasov's worst enemies. Kytin found himself rooted to the spot. "Beka?" he almost squeaked. "As in _the _Commander Beka Valentine of the Andromeda Ascendant? _You_?"

"Wow, Beka," Trance said, grinning happily and patting the older woman's arm. "You really are famous! You're so lucky!"

"No, no, no," Kytin muttered, backing up against the refrigerator. "You have to be kidding around. I mean, you were put up to this, right? I-I'm just…an engineering student, from some backwater planet. This is Dragan territory! Even Commonwealth warships steer clear of the Parevius system!"

"Yes, but you're forgetting something important," said Valentine, leaning forward. "I'm Captain Beka Valentine of the Eureka Maru. And if I want to kidnap some little mudfoot engineer from a Parevian academy, who's gonna stop me?"

There was a moment of hesitation, where Trance looked as though she were struggling with her conscience. "Actually…wasn't it Dylan's idea…?"

"Trance," said Beka curtly. "I think I heard the Maru receive a transmission just now. Why don't you go and check for me?"

The golden-tinged woman slowly got to her feet, still smiling. "Okay…"

When she had left, the 'captain' turned her attention on Kytin. "So, you're Kytin Tribri. If it weren't for you, I'd already be back on the Andromeda, taking a long, relaxing bath in my own quarters."

Though his heart was no longer pounding, Kytin decided that, for now, no one was going to kill him. So he carefully edged towards the table and sat down. The beer in his hand was starting to tempt him. "Um…sorry?"

To his surprise, the older woman grinned. "You're cuter than I expected. Are you sure you grew up in Nietzchean territory?"

"Actually," he said, a little tentatively. "Compared to most systems under Drago-Kasov rule, Parevius is a bit privileged."

"So I heard." Beka took another long swig of her beer. "Apparently, you Parevians have this natural talent for sheer brilliance. If I were Nietzchean, I wouldn't put an entire species of potential geniuses into hard labor camps, either."

The way she spoke about his people held some obvious scorn, but he somehow doubted it was directed at the Parevians as a whole. If this woman really was Commander Beka Valentine of the new Commonwealth, then he could only imagine why she didn't like Nietzcheans. It wouldn't do any good to take offense from someone who had been fighting for the freedom of people like the Parevians for longer than he'd been alive.

"Why are you here?" he asked, after a moment's pause. Now that he had calmed down, the curiosity of his unexpected fate was unbearable.

She waited until she downed the last of her beer before responding. "Because," she said, setting the can down. "I was on my way back home, and Dylan asked me to pick you up along the way. Things aren't going so well back at the farm. We need help. Short on crew, short on allies, short on supplies…basically, we're offering you a job."

Kytin stared at her for a long while after she stopped talking. She stared back at him. And now he felt like wondering if she had lost her mind.

"A job," he said.

She shrugged. "A job."

"You just saved me from a life slavery and potential suffering," he pointed out, stretching his palm flat on the table—a quirk that his people did whenever they were stressing a point. "And you're offering me a job as if I would refuse?"

Beka sighed, the same, time-savvy smile from before returning to her lips. "You don't know a lot about the Commonwealth, do you?"

No, he really didn't. "I know they're…nice people," he offered.

"Kid, you're hopeless." Beka stood up and went to the refrigerator to get another can of beer. "Which is why I haven't killed you yet. The Commonwealth needs people like you. It's no secret. So either I dump you back out on your ass, or you choose to come with us. You're a Parevian. One way or another, you'll end up on one side of this war, and it might as well be the right one."

Kytin considered this carefully, slowly turning the aluminum can around in his fingertips, examining the cold beads of perspiration as they slide down its reflective surface. He'd dodged a smart bullet today, being dragged into this strange ship with one of the most famous Commonwealth pilots known to his generation. If he went back outside, he'd have a normal life to return to. But sooner or later, the Drago-Kasov would come after him. He couldn't keep playing stupid forever and get way with it.

"I think…" He looked up after a minute. "I think I'll do it. I'll become a Commonwealth engineer…on one condition."

Sitting across from him, the older woman seemed less daunting than before. But the tight smile she gave him next was different. It was the smile of someone who had just received something long expected. "You're not only cute," she informed him. "You're ballsy. Let's hear it."

It was his turn to grin. He flipped the tab on top of his beer can. "I want a cerebral port."

* * *

-

Leaving the academy was easier than he thought, considering. The second-in-command to the Commonwealth's most legendary captain was apparently not an easy game to catch. She'd snuck into a prominent learning center in the middle of Dragan territory, abducted what was essentially their property, and gotten away with it scot-free.

Well, 'scot-free' might not be exactly true. Before slipstreaming to Parevius, the Maru had apparently run into a Nietzchean patrol. It explained the damage to the ship's systems, and also why Kytin was put to work posthaste. After agreeing to his terms (but not before muttering something grudgingly about a 'Harper'), Commander Beka had obtained dock clearance and piloted the Maru into orbit around the Parevian planet.

"Hey, kid," Beka said from the pilot's seat. "You'd better get one last look at this place before we head into slipstream."

Kytin pulled his head out from underneath the panel he'd been examining. "First of all, my name isn't 'kid'," he said patiently. "It's Kytin. And I stare at that planet every day. I know what it looks like."

"You're not all that attached to your home, are you?" The comment was made more of a question than a statement. The Maru turned away from the pale green-and-blue world as she prepared the slipstream drive.

"It's not that." He leaned against the console he'd been repairing. "I just…don't like goodbyes. And if you want me to work for the Commonwealth, you won't ask me why."

Unseen by him, Beka smiled grimly. "Cute, ballsy and mysterious. Kytin, you surprise me."

"I surprise myself sometimes," he said. "When I packed my things this morning, I wasn't expecting to be kidnapped by the Commonwealth. But here I am," he continued, laughing feebly. "On the Eureka Maru, for Hallowed's sake! I'm talking to _you_, Commander, pilot of the Andromeda Ascendant, subjugator of the Abyss, slayer of countless Magog—"

"Whoa, whoa," she cut in, reaching for the slipstream prompt controls. "I get it. I'm a legend. I'm not used to the attention, so…let's just stick to Beka for now, all right?"

He pressed his lips together and nodded, looking down at the nano-welder in his hand. "If you want. How long until slipstream?"

"About two minutes," she replied. After a moment of silence, she asked, "I was wondering…is there any particular reason you want a cerebral port? I thought Parevians preferred to learn the hard way."

At this he had to laugh, but it was cheerless. "It don't want it so I can learn," he explained. "I want it so I can teach."

She tilted her head slightly. "Um…okay."

"You really don't know a lot about Parevians, do you?" He smiled and put the nano-welder down.

"I know that they're nice people."

"Maybe we have a lot to learn about each other."

She tapped the final command before securely gripping the pilot's controls. "Maybe we do. Prepare for slipstream."

He barely had time to grab the console before the Maru jumped into slipstream, and shot towards a future he couldn't even fathom.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter Two

_**Parevian **_

-

**AN:** This fanfiction will, after this chapter, take place on two levels. Much of the story takes place 20 years following the end of season five, with Kytin and the 'older' versions of Dylan's crew as the main characters. There will be many, many flashbacks to events and adventures that take place during the 20 years between the defeat of the Abyss and the present day. The purpose of this is to gradually explain why things are so different about Andromeda and her crew in the future, compared to how they were at the end of the series (you'll understand this as you read onwards).

In terms of focus, I can't tell you which of the character's I'll favor. Mostly Kytin, Dylan, Harper and Rommie, but since I'm basing the chapters around different stories from different character's perspectives, there will also be chapters for Trance, Beka, and even Rhade.

Thank you kindly for the feedback.

* * *

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_Chapter Two_

_-_

It took three slipstream jumps to bring them closer to their destination. Kytin kept quietly to himself for the bulk of the trip, familiarizing himself with the Maru's antique innards. He quickly learned that, despite appearances, she was very well maintained and in most areas, fitted with some amazing technology. Some of her configurations seemed so complex, so custom, and yet so completely effortless, it made his brain rattle with envy.

At first, he'd been skeptical. Why would Beka trust him to stick his very adept fingers into parts of the Maru that could potentially explode? He'd only met her yesterday. Even without a data port, he'd already calculated five different ways he could hijack the Maru's controls. Another eight ways he could sabotage her engines—permanently cripple her and leave her dead in space.

But he would never do that. Maybe Beka knew him better than he thought. Which was kind of scary, considering he knew next to nothing about her, aside from the fact that she was so famous.

Kytin sat beside one of the charred access panels that fed power to the bridge's ventilation system. He jadedly lifted one end of a twisted, half-melted grouping of multicolored wires and dropped it again. Somehow, he'd expected his great escape from his fate with the Nietzcheans to be more…exciting. He'd spent twelve hard years cramming as much information into his brain as he possibly could. Was he simply being too ambitious? Was letting his brain rot day in and day out supposed to be good for him?

He liked Trance—what little he knew about her, anyway. The way she was constantly being nice to him, asking him questions about his personal life, treating him like a child…it was a little weird at first. It took a few hours to get used to. But he quickly realized that her cheery disposition wasn't going to go away any time soon. In a way, it was nice. Talking to her was _way_ better than putting up with the old crone of a warden any day.

The food was better, too. He was used to eating a deviation of frozen rations that ranged from processed valdu-bird meat and assorted vegetables crammed with anti-degenerate chemicals. The food on board the Maru was real. For the first time in years, he'd tasted sugar. That alone made up for half of the doubts he felt about his decision.

Still, he couldn't help but feel like a trophy—one that was being passed from one side of the war to the other. The Commonwealth people weren't stupid. They knew what they were gaining with him, or else they wouldn't have risked sending _the_ Beka Valentine into the heart of Nietzchean territory to get him. He wondered if they had specifically chosen _him_, or if it was a random decision. One way or another, it didn't quite feel like being adopted. It was more like…a business arrangement.

Which is what it was supposed to be. When did he start thinking about it any other way? He really must be tired. Long journeys in space were bad for him.

Before he had time to dwell more on his social stupidity, Captain Beka's voice came on over the ship-wide comm. "Transiting to slipstream. Hold on, guys."

He held on. Even so, his body slammed against the wall of the service conduit. This wasn't the first time he'd gained a bruise from slipstream travel. Complex technology or not, the Maru's slipstream drive had a temper equivalent to his former warden's bad moods.

Sighing, he climbed heavily onto one side and slid out of the narrow passage and into the bridge area that connected the cockpit to the main section of the ship. Standing up, he stretched his back and strode over to the pilot's chair that was currently being occupied by the middle-aged Commonwealth officer.

"This is the last one, right?" he asked, doing little to hide his zeal. Beka struck him as the kind of person who read people like books—open or closed, it didn't matter.

"This is it," she said, straining to keep the Maru under control. The ship jerked sharply, unbalancing the Parevian student. He bashed his knee against the back of her chair, sucking air through his teeth in surprise.

"Careful," she warned him, and he just _knew_ she was smiling. "These trips can be pretty shaky. Hold on to something—I'm about to exit."

Kytin didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed the closet solid thing and held on for dear life as the Maru jolted out of slipstream. And in one brilliant flash, he was there.

Where 'there' was, he had yet to find out.

Floating in mid-space, possibly eight or ten light seconds from their position was the largest, most impressive drift he had ever seen—not that he'd seen many. Put next to his academy, anyway, it would have dwarfed his previous home. It took about three seconds to realize that what he was staring at was not a drift, or even an orbital station. There was no planet to orbit. They were in the middle of a thick red-purple-and-blue nebula. The first thing that came to his mind—he felt embarrassed to admit, even to himself—was the legendary stories about an ancient Vedran castle floating amidst the clouds of the promised land. That, of course, would have been ridiculous.

The station, if he could call it that, was shaped like a large, bluish-gray, curved pyramid. It was blunt and narrow at the top, and extended outwards to the bottom, forming four enormous 'tiers' decorated with brilliant, illuminated designs that seemed to serve no purpose but to look fantastic (which he would later find out was entirely untrue). This was the central structure of it all. Midway from the top, a large, circular portion enclosed the sleek dart-like base. There were six, large conduits connecting the outer ring to the inner structure.

And it was armed to the teeth.

Kytin was a very brilliant young man, but even the dullest sentient being could see the weaponry practically _embellishing_ this thing. Massive missile ports easily the size of the Eureka Maru herself sat perched in rows along the outer ring. Objects that could only be turret weapons dotted her surface by the hundreds. And then he noticed at the very bottom of structure, the cluster of small ships and the brightly illuminated tips of the gargantuan tiers. He had to guess—a shipyard. Although he could see no evidence of any unfinished ships, he recognized the other vessels to be a collection of industrial supply runners. He _had_ seen his fair share of ships in his years at the academy.

He was staring at a colossal conundrum. What kind of shipyard floated out in the middle of space? What kind of shipyard had more weapons than the planetary defense system of Tarazed itself?

For a moment, he failed to notice the giant warship looming in front of the Maru. She stood out against the brightly colored gases of the nebula like a Nietzchean in a Than village. If he hadn't already had the stars stolen from his eyes by the massive shipyard (weapon's platform? Former planetary defense satellite?), he would have most definitely lost them to her. Without being told, he knew for sure that the wonder before him was _the_ legendary Andromeda Ascendant. But before he could mouth a word, the graceful form of the Commonwealth ship slipped past them overhead. Kytin looked at Beka for the first time since they had left slipstream, only to find her smirking back at him.

"Where…?" he managed to croak, before uncomfortably clearing his throat.

"Kytin," she replied, breathing in as though she were coming home to the summer country. "Meet the Sharp Measure."

The Sharp Measure!

Now he knew he was dreaming. The Sharp Measure simply didn't exist. It was a myth. A story spread by the Commonwealth to make their losing tide seem more admirable, more competent than they really were. Everyone knew that the Commonwealth didn't possess the resources or the wealth to build such a powerful weapon. They never had, and certainly didn't have the means to maintain it today.

He glared at Beka angrily. "That's a myth. You're lying to me," he accused, genuinely offended.

By the way her expression changed, he almost felt sorry for saying it. The woman jumped from the pilot's chair and turned on him. "I am _not_," she said, folding her arms. Realizing he wasn't convinced, she seemed to lower her hackles and sighed. "Really, I'm not. The Measure might be just a myth to you, but that's the way the Nietzcheans want it. They know _exactly_ what he is and where to find him. They just don't have the guts to come anywhere _near_ this place anymore."

Astute as always, he caught onto her inappropriate pronouns almost immediately. "He?"

Beka closed her eyes patiently. "Sorry. It. Him. Whatever. The Measure exists, and you're about to exist _with_ it. That is, if you haven't changed your mind."

"What?" he retorted. "Listen, Commander, let's say I concede your point and that _is_ the Sharp Measure. You must have _thousands_ of engineers working for you already. Why do you need me?"

"Why do _you_ keep asking that? You're a Parevian. The Commonwealth would have to be run by morons not the want someone with your credentials working for them."

"My credentials," he repeated bluntly. "So they want me badly enough to send someone as important as you to get me?"

Now she smiled with a far bit of self-satisfaction. "Oh, please," she said. "I'm the only one both skilled _and_ crazy enough to pull it off. You know, kid, I don't think you realize how lucky you are. See, if Trance and I hadn't already been passing by the Parevian system, you wouldn't be here right now. So don't flatter yourself into thinking you're more important that any other super brilliant geniuses hired by the Commonwealth in the past. You're different; maybe even special. But then, so are a lot of people working for this place."

Those words might have stung, if they had in any way contrasted with what he already felt. But instead, they simply confirmed what he thought before—he was just another asset on his way to a better life. He could live with that.

"Fine," he granted, letting himself relax a little more. "I give. But at least tell me _what_ this place is. If I'm going to be working here, it'd be nice to know what I'll be doing."

"Good." She uncrossed her arms and turned around. As carelessly as though collapsing into a comfortable armchair, she dropped herself into the pilot's seat again. "Lesson number one, kiddo: the Measure, while _technically_ a weapon's platform, doubles as a shipyard, which I'm sure you've noticed. You want a job description? You already have one. The Measure _is_ your job. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I'm assuming you'll be working directly with the platform's AI." After a moment, she added with a touch of mock disdain. "Lucky you."

"AI?" he repeated, not realizing that he was developing a habit of echoing her all the time. "That thing has an AI?"

She gave him a strange glare out of the corner of her eyes. "Of course it does," she said with a strangely affronted tone. "All Commonwealth ships and stations have AI. Where have _you_ been for the past eight hundred years?"

"But the Maru doesn't," he pointed out.

"True. But the Maru is _my_ ship, _not_ the Commonwealths." As she spoke, her hands flexed and she began to steer the ship in question towards the base of the Sharp Measure at a reasonable speed. "I'm happy with it just the way it is."

"Sorry," he said with a slight sigh. "I really do have a lot to learn."

"And here I was thinking you wanted to teach." This earned her a glare from _him_. "Ouch. Forget I said anything."

"No, I just…" He paused. "Never mind. So, that whole thing is controlled by a single computer?"

"Yes, if by a single 'computer' you mean a single 'person'." This scorn wasn't faked. But it was a sort of tolerable attitude, sort of like she could predict his meaning. "As far as AIs go, he's really good. Almost as good as Rommie herself. You _might_ want to avoid meeting his avatar, though." Her face contorted slightly. "Just to be safe."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. They were silent for the next three minutes as the Maru drew ever closer to the enormous station and the base of the four docking tiers.

Kytin watched with intense interest as the hangar doors parted, temporarily exposing the entire landing flat to the vacuum of space. Expertly, Beka guided the Maru into the cavernous bay and set her down on the flat, locking her docking clamps into place. After a few more seconds, the green indicator on the far wall lit up, and she looked up at him with a knowing grin.

"Welcome to your new home," she said.

* * *

- 

It was cold in the hangar. He would always remember that. When he stepped off the ship and onto the flat, he realized that it was getting warmer. After being exposed to vacuum, he wasn't surprised that the docking area needed to be reheated.

People were approaching them from the far end of the open dock. He tightened his grip around the strap of his bag and waited for instructions. Then he felt Beka shove him lightly from behind. Bewildered, he stumbled forward and rounded on her. "Hey!"

"One small step for man," she quipped sarcastically. "Seriously, get moving. Dylan wants to see you right away."

"Why would he—"

"Ah!" she interrupted, raising a finger. "Move, don't talk. He's supposed to be in a meeting in fifteen minutes. If you're lucky, he can squeeze you in."

"But I don't want to be squeezed—"

"_Hey_!"

Kytin felt Beka's grip on his shoulder tighten. "Oh, great."

"What? What's wrong?" Confused, he halted in his tracks to look at her.

"Beka! Boss, my baby, my Bonnie, my bomb, my bulb-a-licious beauty," said a new voice with a sarcastic edge, which he soon realized was coming from the cluster of landed ships behind them. He jerked to his left and witnessed as a somewhat short, blonde man striding towards them with his arms spread wide. "You came back to me! Oh, generous, gratuitous Divine, make me stop bleedin' my metaphorical heart out!"

Kytin had to wonder. Five minutes ago, the entire landing flat had been depressurized and exposed to vacuum. Where did this guy come from? One of the ships? It had to be. There was no other explanation he could think of that would explain his sudden appearance.

"Harper," Beka said flatly, letting go of her passenger to greet their greeter. "How nice to see you. Here. On the opposite side of the station from where you're _supposed_ to be."

"Come on, Boss. It's me. I'm everywhere at all times. Am I right?" Harper replied, looking momentarily offended. Kytin observed him quietly, deciding he was the third-party member. The blonde man looked no older than thirty, with spiked hair and a jittery sort of way of standing around. He was holding a flexi disc, which flipped, flopped and waved in his hands as he spoke. "And yes, before you ask, I already did a complete diagnostic on the Maru's interior _and_ exterior damages, and yes, I'll get started on them right away. Am I forgetting anything?" He held the flexi out to Beka, which she took without glancing down.

In spite of himself, Kytin had to blurt out without thinking, "You ran a ship's diagnostic that fast?"

Beka threw him a hard glare, which was unexpected. Harper, on the other hand, just pressed his lips together smugly and tilted his head towards him. "Trust the Harper—"

"—the Harper is good," Beka finished with a slight groan, rolling her eyes. "Yes, yes, we all want to hear about the _amazing_ Seamus Zelazny Harper…_later_." With that, she slapped her hands heavily onto Kytin's shoulders and started to usher him towards the exit.

"But how did he—" Not for the first time, he felt his attention being rushed in another direction. "Who was that?"

"No one important," she replied airily, suggesting the complete opposite of what she was saying. "The important thing is—you're late for an appointment and _he_ isn't coming."

"You're welcome!" Harper called after them. Lytin heard him snort before walking in the opposite direction.

After a few steps, the Parevian shrugged away Beka's hands and straightened his posture. The last thing he wanted was to be treated like a child in front of cohorts he would be working with from no on.

A group of new people surrounded them as they drew nearer to the doors. Beka exchanged a few formalities with them as they passed. Kytin noticed some of their heads turning his way—the moment seemed to move at a decelerated rate. When everything sped up again, he felt and uncomfortable lump form in his throat. Were they staring at him because he was Parevian or because he was new?

He would admit that, compared to them, he wasn't a 'usual' sight to behold. All Parevians were strictly confined to their homeworld since the birth of his generation. Because of a very low exposure to ultra-violet radiation, the people on his planet had evolved with a very gray, colorless complexion. The natural hair color for Parevians was gray. Essentially, everything about them was gray, their eyes included. Kytin was slightly different in his aspect. The only pigment in his body was in his eyes, which were blue. His hair was permanently dyed brown, but only because it was standard procedure at his academy. He wasn't sure why.

His tall, lithe structure was also trademark to his Parevian lineage. He tried to stay poised and flat-shouldered as he entered the inner workings of the legendary Sharp Measure.

It was all so pristine; everything perfectly maintained. From the Maru to this place—the difference was night and day.

He and Beka had to travel through a winding corridor. He found himself wondering about Trance. He hadn't seen her leave the Maru. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember seeing her since this morning. Was she still on the Maru, or had she left early?

"You'll be treated to the grand tour later," Beka was saying. "Knowing how desperate they are for help, they'll probably put you to work tomorrow."

"That's good," he replied.

Together, they boarded a lift. She struck one of the controls and sent the mechanism into motion. "This thing takes us straight to Dylan's office," she told him. "Usually."

"Usually?"

"Yes, usually." Her expression turned momentarily sour. "It's a long story. Maybe some other time."

He kept his eyes fixed on the doors in front of him. "I'm good at telling stories," he announced. "I'm good at remembering them, too. It's part of the reason I want a cerebral port so badly."

"You have easily ten _times_ the knowledge in your brain than anymore else on this station," she said with skepticism. "And you want to tell stories."

Kytin's smile broadened into an impractical and unchallenged grin. "Knowledge is knowledge. Stories are wisdom."

She eyed him carefully as the lift came to gentle stop and the doors parted again. They were greeted with a large, spacious room with dark green carpeting and elegantly curved walls with ridges encircling all around. There was a broad, practically spotless table with several soft-looking chairs in the center of the room, and at the far end, a window the size of his entire former dorm room's wall.

He was disturbed when suddenly, Beka reached out and (not for the first time that day) pushed him forward by the arm. She was rewarded with a questioning stare. "Hey, don't look at me," she said innocently. "I'm just the delivery girl. Now you're all his."

While he opened his mouth to say something in return, the doors to the lift started to close again. She stepped back and waved her fingers.

"Bye."

And then she was gone, leaving him utterly alone inside what appeared to be an abandoned conference room with no idea who he was going to meet, or when said meeting would happen.

"I may have misjudged you, Commander Beka Valentine," he said under his breath.

"You wouldn't be the first."

The voice sounded from behind, startling him. With a little less grace than was the par for etiquette, he spun around, the strap of his single bag slipping in his hands. As he struggled to shift the weight of his luggage back into place, he took in the appearance of the man standing just there.

Like with everything else he'd encountered on the station so far, Kytin was impressed. Just the way this guy _stood_ there seemed daunting. He felt like he was looking at a militaristic scholar with enough stories to knock his own pathetically short existence down flat.

Admiral Dylan Hunt was a man in his sixties, with a sturdy frame and softly lined face. His hair was fairly lengthy, having gone a dark, almost regal gray with age—tied back in a queue behind his shoulders. He had a shortly cropped beard that framed his lips. And there was both cheerful amusement and expectation behind those eyes. Since the time of his birth, Kytin knew that eyes were traitorous to the mind; betraying secrets and emotions their keepers never intended to release.

"Admiral," he said, feeling his throat go dry. The most prestigious person he'd ever before this was his warden's general manager. Now he felt small and unimportant, despite what Beka had told him. "I heard you…sent for me."

All of his expectations went out the window when Hunt chuckled in response, slowly taking two steps towards the nervous student. "Yes, in fact, I did. The reasons as to why I did this are too numerous to count, trust me. But you're needed here. We've never had a Parevian on board before. Let me be the first to say it's kind of nice to finally meet one."

Some of the glimmer in Kytin's heart died just then. "Of course," he said solemnly, nodding his head respectfully. "It's an honor to be here, sir. Stories about you and your crew are well known among my people."

"Good ones, I hope," the admiral said. He turned to one side, gesturing at the table. "Have a seat, Mr. Tribri, and we'll discuss your imminent future here."

"I'm sorry, sir, but…" Kytin looked around the room, feeling he should be surrounded by at least another handful of people. "I was told you had a meeting soon?"

Hunt just shook his head, slowly taking a seat in one of the soft chairs facing away from the table. "I'll just assume Beka told you that. No, I don't. This room hasn't been used for much more than social parties, private gatherings and the occasional shelter from invading hostile forces. My annual meet-and-greets take place on the Andromeda."

"Oh," said Kytin. He was at a loss for words. Instead, he cautiously approached the seat at the end of the table and sat, putting his bag on the floor. Strangely enough, Hunt continued to gaze at him as thought expecting for him to continue. "So…I was given the impression you're offering me a job?"

Hunt leaned back and threaded his fingers together before him. "Oh, no. Not just any job. A job that, sadly, I haven't been able to give to anyone for more than a few weeks at a time. For…um, various reasons."

"Working with the Measure's AI, sir? It's that dangerous?"

Now the admiral's brow creased, and Kytin realized that particular tidbit of information must have been confidential. Hunt sighed. "By some chance, did _Harper_ tell you that?"

"Uh, no," the boy was quick to reply. "Although I did meet him. Seems like a nice guy."

"Sure he is," Hunt said loudly, as though purposely allowing someone else in the room overhear him. "And I can't to tell him how _thrilled_ I am about him interfering with _my_ new recruit."

Kytin felt sure that the admiral had at the very least, gone slightly insane over the years of his dedicated service to the Commonwealth. That theory, however, was quickly squashed when a certain large, practically invisible puzzle piece clicked into place.

"Oh, sure, blame _me_ for what my avatar does in his spare time," said the easily identifiable voice over the room's comm. Suddenly, the screen on the wall across from them blinked on, displaying the sarcastically twisted face of the young Seamus Harper whom he'd met just minutes ago in the hangar. "How come you never blame the Andromeda for whenever Rommie picks on me?"

Hunt just sighed and crossed his arms, turning the chair so that it faced the screen. "Mr. Harper, I don't blame anyone for your behavior. I just accept it as one of nature's unchangeable laws."

The image of the supposed 'engineer' just rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Boss. So, what is it that's so important about this kid that I just _had_ to know?"

Alas, all Kytin could do was stare and gape at the screen in open shock. This _couldn't_ be what he thought it was!

"Mr. Tribri," said Hunt, smirking. "Allow me to introduce you to Seamus: resident AI of the Sharp Measure. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, will be to tolerate _him_. For as long as you can."

---

AN: Oh, the wonderful backstory to _this_ plot twist is going to be _so, so so_ fun to write.

TBC


	3. Chapter Three

_**Parevian **_

-

**AN:** This chapter contains the first official 'flashback' to the past. The sections of this chapter and future chapters that contain stories of past events will be rendered in a personal perspective. We can just assume any personal interaction between Dylan or the rest of the 'past crew' won't be part of whatever Kytin learns about them.

Also, only a fraction of the 'how-Harper-gets-artificialized' (because that's a word) will be revealed in this chapter. Hook, line, and sinker.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

-

_CY 10112 — Present day_

-

'Surprised' might not be the word to describe it.

Kytin knew this was all very bizarre from the beginning. He knew a lot about a lot of things, most of which could flabbergast an entire congregation of Perseid scientists. And according to the historical records of the academy, Seamus Harper had been the Andromeda's chief engineer for well over ten years. Until _this_ very moment, he couldn't exactly remember the rest of the human's profile, other than the fact that he, along with the rest of the Andromeda and her crew had mysteriously gone missing six years after the defeat of the Abyss. Well, as far as the Nietzcheans were concerned, anyway.

He did remember this, however: Seamus Harper was not an AI. And no technology to ever grace the Tri-Galaxies had perfected the act of immortalizing organic lifeforms.

Hunt must have read his reaction, because he was quick to start explaining. "You're confused," he observed. "That's okay—so was I, at first. But I'll let the two of you sort it out later. For now, let's just stick to the terms and conditions of your employment."

Unable to stop staring cynically at the screen—with the blank, obedient face of Seamus staring back--Kytin agreed. "Sure," he said. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

"Go ahead," the admiral allowed.

"If I wanted to change my mind about all this, what would happen to me? Hypothetically?"

Hunt laughed. "You mean would we chain your to the Maru and ship you back into Nietzchean space? That wouldn't be a very admirable thing to do, would it?"

But as the boy continued to gaze at him, expecting a straight answer, the older man changed to a more serious tone. "You're a Parevian, Mr. Tribri, not a prisoner. If you really wanted to, you could choose to pursue a perfectly normal life on any of the worlds in the Commonwealth's charter. However," he went on candidly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't strike me as the type who would be happy with that kind of life."

"No, I'm not," said Kytin. "With people constantly reminding me of who and what I am, how could I be?"

He hadn't meant it to be a hostile remark, but it ended up serving as such. From the screen, their eavesdropper AI grimaced. "Ooh, ouch."

"That will be all, Mr. Harper," Hunt ordered sternly, glaring at the screen.

"Okie-dokie, Boss," Seamus said and smirked. The screen changed to show pale golden background with the New Commonwealth insignia displayed in the center.

Left in private, the admiral turned back to Kytin. "I understand what it's like to have your life changed in the blink of an eye, Mr. Tribri," he said. "And I agree that it's not one of the most pleasant experiences I've ever had. I asked two of my oldest friends and finest crewmembers to risk their lives. I did this in order to pull you out of that life so you can do something better than just sit around and wait for a representative of the Drago-Kasov to enslave you on one of their ships. And not only did I do this because we need you—I did it because I made a promise."

Kytin's interest had been ignited, though he wasn't sure if he actually _wanted_ to know more than he already knew. Today had given him enough to absorb already.

He bit anyway. "A promise to who?" he asked flatly.

"Your parents," the reply came. "You're probably wondering how that's possible."

The student's eyes narrowed. "If you could enlighten me."

Hunt nodded, taking a moment to reflect. "Before the Parevian system surrendered to the Drago-Kasov, your father and I worked together aboard the Andromeda. Which…might come as a surprise to you, since his assignment under my directive was to spy on me."

Kytin nodded. "I knew he worked for the Commonwealth before I was born. He died before I got to know him." For a moment, he considered. "May I ask why?"

The admiral shrugged. "For too many reasons to get into. Bottom line was: he did a terrible job. Beka caught him snooping around my quarters and I brought an end to it. I had no idea we'd become friends after that, but that's how it was. Through him, I met the rest of the Parevian Citizen's Council. I even helped thwart a plan to assassinate the First Minister."

"Fascinating," Kytin replied, honestly trying to sound as though he were surprised by this information. It was getting harder and harder to actually _feel_ surprised. "Admiral, I don't mean to offend, but I'm not entirely sure why you're telling me this. I don't care about what my parents made you promise. They handed me over to the academy when I barely old enough to read. I'm more concerned with _what_ I'll be doing here, not why. If that's all right with you, sir."

"That's fine," Hunt said, relinquishing the subject. "I'm not going to bore you with stories of the good old days if that bothers you. Back to the present: _your_ job," he added, with a professional slap of his hand on the table's surface. He turned his chair again, glancing at the screen on the wall. "Seamus, if you would please."

The screen blinked, once more showing the AI's face. A column—or rather, a graph—appeared on the display beside him as 'Mr. Harper' began to dutifully, and far less sarcastically, explain Kytin's job proposal in detail. To put it all in few words, his duties would be both extremely diverse and isolated at the same time. In the Measure's lifetime, no one other than Harper himself had kept an eye on the condition of his AI. His core structure was too complicated and massive for any one engineer to comprehend, and unfortunately, good engineers were getting harder and harder to come by as the war dragged on.

They needed, apparently, someone who already as much about AI systems as Harper himself. There were several individuals at Kytin's academy that 'fit the bill', but for reasons Hunt had attempted to explain already, they chose him above the others.

When the briefing was over, Kytin pondered for a full minute before speaking. "So in addition to my regular duties, I'm supposed to keep your AI functioning properly? On my own?"

"Hey!" Seamus objected from his screen. "I'll have you know I'm in excellent shape, thank you very much. But for _some_ reason, some _moron_—not mentioning any names, of course—decided to give the Commonwealth the idea that we AIs can't take care of ourselves without some sort of blissful organic intervention."

"Oh, come on," Hunt said incredulously. "It was an innocent topic for conversation during a formal dinner with Fleet Admiral Sunn. How was I supposed to know it would turn into this?" He frowned. "And exactly how many times have we discussed this?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Seamus went on with a deadpan tone. "You're my commanding officer, and I'm the AI. It's my job to do whatever it is you think is best for me, and it'll _all_ work out in the end, yadda, yadda, yadda."

Before the admiral could respond to that, and to everyone's surprise, the screen to the right of Seamus suddenly flickered from the standard golden insignia to display the portrait of woman. Her face had a stoic, almost superior aura around it.

"Seamus," she reported evenly. "Did I intercept you complaining about your obligation as the Commonwealth's most advanced and powerful weapon's platform known to the history of mankind?"

The Measure's AI looked sour. "No," he said. "Who asked you, Andromeda? Go get your own communication system to terrorize."

Normally, Kytin would be annoyed about being left on the sidelines and ignored in such situations. But in this instance, it barely even registered. Now he was witnessing _two_ AIs with evident emotional and interactive personalities of which he had never seen the like. Not to mention that one of them was _the_ legendary Andromeda. Divinity, if he opened his mouth to speak, he'd probably miss something most of his classmates back at the academy would kill to see in action.

"I have one," Andromeda replied to Seamus's comment. "And it's superior to yours," she said, turning her attention to the slightly grinning High Guard admiral. "Admiral, I have a message from Captain Tavii. He requests your presence on the Diomedes. He says to 'take your time, but don't be quick about it', though I cannot clarify whether or not he was being serious."

"That sounds like Secundus would say," muttered Hunt without formality. "All right, tell him I'm on my way. Seamus?"

The AI smirked glumly. "Boss?"

Hunt stood up, straightening the hem of his shirt with a casual determination. He looked at Kytin. "Mr. Tribri?"

"Yes, Admiral?"

"You two get along," said Hunt. "I'd hate to have to replace either one of you so soon."

"Hah! I'd like to see you try," Seamus quipped confidently. Hunt glowered at him from a distance. The young engineer's smug expression dropped. "Uh, I mean—yessir," he added meekly.

"Yes," said Kytin, suddenly.

The admiral appeared to be confused. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, I think I'll take the job." Now Kytin also stood up, noting with some satisfaction that he was nearly as tall as the legendary figure in front of him. "That is what you wanted, isn't it?"

But the High Guard officer was still not sure of his meaning. He glanced at the dual faces of the Andromeda and Measure's AIs, then back to the Parevian student. "I was…under the impression you were already staying."

"I know," he replied. "It's not important. Where do I sleep?"

"I'll have somebody take you to your new quarters, I guess," Seamus announced. "It's not like I don't literally have a million other things to do."

Hunt turned to him as he approached the doors. They exchanged a firm handshake. "Well, it was, uh…nice meeting you, Mr. Tribri," he said with hesitant formality. "I will be expecting your first indicative report in a few days, so my advice to you is—get cracking."

"I will, sir."

Awkwardly, the Commonwealth admiral sidestepped to head to the lift. As Kytin watched him leave—only faintly aware that the Andromeda transmission had ended and Seamus was rolling his eyes towards him—he felt the unmanageable urge to learn more. More about this man, more about the station he had committed himself to, more about the AI and most importantly…more about the past.

_

* * *

-_

_CY 10095 – Seventeen year ago_

_-_

"Dylan, we've been searching the same galaxy for three years. How any worlds have signed the Commonwealth charter in this past year _alone_?"

Captain Dylan Hunt of the Andromeda Ascendant strode through the main corridors of the warship, with the command center behind him and the machine shops ahead. Currently, he was fulfilling his side of the argument with his First Officer.

"I don't know," he replied with a pressured tone. "I'm pretty sure I lost count after that last one—Cortunia, was it?"

"Three, Dylan. _Three_. It took use a whole _year_ to do what we used to do in just a few weeks! What does that tell you?" Beka was also an active participant in the argument as they threaded their way through the ship towards an expected meeting with their chief engineer.

Dylan glanced over at her. "Honestly, Beka? It doesn't matter. I'm not the one with the irreversible issue with being assigned a defensive three-year term—it's Andromeda."

"Well, she's just going to have to get used to it, because in my opinion, _this_ is the best thing that's happened to us since we defeated the Abyss."

Harper appeared around the corner, nursing a flexi in one hand. "To us, or to you?"

Beka stopped and crossed her arms. "Oh, as if the prospect of being allowed to design the core AI of the galaxy's most powerful weapon doesn't have you utterly infatuated."

The engineer smirked and shrugged. "Guilty as charged."

But Dylan eyed him "Aren't you supposed to be on medical leave?"

"Yeah. They, uh, sent me back," the terse reply came. Although unexpected, Dylan knew his shortness wasn't directed at his friends, but most likely whatever water-brained idiot doctor told him to go home. Planetary physicians always seemed to have a snobbish attitude towards residents of lower-class worlds. "They _claim_ they can't do anything for my, uh, problem."

"Ah," he observed. "Found out you were from Earth, did they?"

Strangely, Harper avoided eye contact, keeping his attention fully trained on the flexi instead. "Yeah, something like that," he said.

"I've tried convincing him to go back," Andromeda's hologram revealed, appearing in her transparent state beside him. She was glaring at him, though, with her arms clasped behind her back. "But I think I've had more success navigating slipstream."

"Well," said that captain, strongly disliking the idea that his chief engineer was being denied medical assistance based on social propaganda. "We'll see what our friendly neighborhood doctors have to say once they hear from me."

"No!"

Beka and Dylan stared at the young human in surprise. Harper looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a Magog swarm ship. "Uh, what I mean is, uh," he said quickly, trying to redeem his outburst, "Why bother? It's not like I haven't had a little cough before—or actually, about a zillion times every week—and we're on a tight schedule. Let's just let bygones be bygones."

"Was this person by any chance a female doctor?" Beka inquired with false innocence.

Harper leered, a milieu of reproach suddenly infesting his voice. "Y'know what? You're right, Boss. That's _exactly_ why I'd rather not talk about it. One more ripped out page in the Big Ol' Book of Love by Seamus Zelazny Harper, co-written by the stench of miserable disappointment and published in the name of humiliation and rejection. If it's okay with you, I think I'm needed somewhere else right now."

Without one more word of enlightenment, the Andromeda's engineer doubled back the way he came and disappeared into the belly of the corridor. The ship's hologram blinked out, leaving Dylan and Beka alone and confused.

"Okay," Dylan said after a few moments. "What just happened?"

Stunned and guilt-stricken, Beka could only shake her head and gawk her astonishment at Harper's allegation. "I…was only kidding," she said in disbelief. "He's never acted that way before."

The captain sighed, and started to retrace his steps. "He's got a lot on his plate," he said knowingly. "We all do. Once things have settled down in the Eldorado system, it should all go back to normal."

Following him first with her eyes and then, reluctantly, her feet, Beka joined him in his return to the command center. "I really hope so, Dylan." And softly under her breath, with the sting of unease, she added, "For his sake, at least."

* * *

-

Harper locked the door to machine shop five and leaned against the cool surface of the wall. He breathed in the self-revitalizing smell of the familiar, metal surfaces all around him, focusing on anything and everything that had nothing to do with doctors, nurses or any other kind of false hope. For a minute or two, he didn't even realize that he wasn't alone.

When he opened his eyes, he groaned. "Oh, come on. Can't you leave a guy alone?" he complained, pushing himself away from the wall and crossing over to the nearest table.

"You're sick," said Andromeda, her hologram standing several feet away.

The engineer snorted, picking up the nano-welder from amidst the chaotic mess on his bench. "Geez, you just noticed? I'm always sick—sick in the head, sick in the body, sick in the sense that I really have no freakin' clue what I'm talking about."

"Harper," she said sternly. "You may have fooled Beka and Captain Hunt, and for that, I commend you. But then, _they_ aren't able to detect your accelerated heartbeat, the increase of your body's temperature or even hear that irregular rattling sound in your chest when you breathe—"

"Alright, _stop_!" he shot back, turning around. Then he seemed to lose track of what he was saying. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, still holding onto the nano-welder.

"If you don't tell the captain, I will," said the hologram.

"No you won't," he snapped, pointing the welder towards her in a way he clearly thought was intimidating. "Because if you do, _I'm_ not gonna stick around to hear about it. You _know_ I will."

"I don't think so," she objected. "Harper, the Commonwealth needs you. Your crew needs you. _I_ need you."

He paused after hearing that, the sharp comment lying on the edge of his tongue dissolving in a moment. "You…you need me?"

Andromeda's hologram looked uncomfortable. "Yes," she said with slight difficulty. "In the way a warship needs her favorite engineer, who also happens to be an old friend. A warship who is, by they way, duty-bound to inform her captain of any illness amidst her crew that might either impede progress or endanger lives."

"Huh," he remarked halfheartedly. "Well, believe me, you don't have to worry about anyone catching this, Androme-darlin'. This is the galaxy's way of handing me my non-transferable, one-way ticket to the great beyond." He laughed feebly. "I mean, at least with the Magog eggs, I had a freakin' _chance_."

She identified the sharp increment of distress in his voice and knew immediately that they were no longer dealing with something as simple as a common virus. Even a human would have known this, by the way his voice cracked and his body seized with emotion. Although not at all capable of the sentiment found in her gynoid counterpart, the hologram was required to adjust to the shock of the realization—a revelation that temporarily suspended her sensors.

"It is bad," she observed. "Harper, tell me what happened."

The engineer stood, leaning over the table with his palms pressed down. A deafening silence took over the machine shop.

"I have Venus Tuberculosis," he said softly.

The hologram stayed silent. Before Earth's destruction, such a disease—most commonly caused by untreated bacterial infections, especially those resulting from inhaling certain types of mildew or mold—killed nearly eight million humans every year. Unlike its ancient predecessor, it was not transferable from one body to another. No antibiotic in existence was strong enough to effectively kill the alien bacteria set in the lungs quickly enough, and not harm the organic body beyond repair. And with Harper's immune system, exposure to the kind of treatment Venus victims usually received would only kill him faster.

"You can't…tell Beka," Harper said abruptly. There was fierce determination behind his eyes as he turned around. "This is entirely my fault—no one else's, no one, nada. Got it? If Beka ever finds out…" He wiped his brow again, running his fingers through his damp hair. "There'll be _no_ stoppin' her from thinking I got it from workin' on the Maru. It's that simple. _No_ one finds out about this until I say so."

"Harper, you know as well as I do that I have to tell Dylan," said Andromeda.

"Nobody has to know," he replied unyieldingly.

"He does." Her expression softened. "Maybe not Beka, or Trance, Doyle, Rhade or even my avatar, but I am still compelled to keep my captain informed of the well-being of his crew."

Harper said nothing. He could have been angry, but there was no way he could project those feelings without directing the blame on her, which he wouldn't do. The hologram could only interpret his silence as acceptance of her logic. "Thank you, Harper."

"Just go away."

She did.

* * *

-

"…I see."

Dylan felt as though the air in the command center had gone stagnant with the sudden and startling news of his engineer's twist of mortality. The placid face of the Andromeda's AI stared at him with unlimited patience, allowing him to weigh his thought for as long as necessary.

Finally, the captain looked up from the surface of the console he was leaning against. "How long does he have?"

"He seems reluctant to talk about it," she reported. "However, my analysis of his current respiratory status and previous records of this disease among other former refugees have provided me with sufficient data to make a sufficient prediction."

He nodded, feeling tired and overwhelmed all at once. "Which is?"

Andromeda calculated, giving the appearance of a thoughtful expression. "If treated properly, the disease will most likely be terminal within seventeen to twenty-two months," she said.

Dylan placed a hand over his face to think. If being ordered to abandon his mission as a freelance Commonwealth captain wasn't bad enough, the act of fate just had to drop the certain future death of his chief engineer into his lap, too. There was no possible way he could go against Haper's wishes and tell the rest of the crew, either. No, this was something he had to see to himself, which meant he had to confront the younger man about it, alone.

"Yeah," he said after a few, perpetual seconds. "Andromeda, if you don't mind, I'd like a few minutes to think about this."

"Of course. Privacy mode engaged."

The screen of infinite stars before him was his sole consolation for a very difficult, very exhausting, and very painful day.

* * *

TBC


End file.
